Protection
by SomethingCompletelyDifferent77
Summary: Sherlock is back from his encounter with Moriarty, only to find himself in a whole new kind of mystery. She is unlike anyone he has ever met: intelligent, brave, and never boring...and yet harboring a big secret. Who is she and what is she hiding? Will Sherlock be able to figure it out before it is too late? Her life depends on it... Sherlock/OC romance and full of adventure!
1. Chapter 1

The crystal blue eye gazed searchingly through the cold, metallic microscope. Dark eyebrows drawn together in a puzzling glare, the man carefully analyzed the slide before him. Suddenly, the man's icy stare turned triumphant as he cried out, "AHA!", causing the sleeping blonde beside him to fall off the lab bench and onto the cold, tiled floor with a resounding "umph!"

"I KNEW it had to be the first chair oboe! Just look at his socks!" cried the curly-haired man, speaking to no one in particular. His sudden change in demeanor would have shocked most people, but his mercurial mood swing was nothing new to the still sleepy man on the floor.

"Wait, the what? The oboe?! I thought we still had our sights on the second chair v-v-violinist," said the blonde, failing a stifling a massive yawn.

"Ugh- how boring John," said the man by the microscope, rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion. "I ruled her out hours ago." The man stood, grabbing a long gray wool coat from the back of his chair and fishing for his mobile. "True, there is a motive. Concert mistress found murdered in the woods a mere two hours before the symphony is to perform, any ordinary person would naturally think the second chair violinist has the most to gain. Your line of reasoning was consistent with the simple-minded conclusions of the masses, no need to worry John."

John grumbled incoherently at his friend's insult, knowing that he meant nothing personal by such a statement. The blue-eyed man, unfortunately, lacked a proper filter. "And the oboe player? What is this about his socks, Sherlock?"

Sherlock grinned, typing in a number on his mobile phone. "Shot in the dark, but a good one nonetheless," he said smugly. "Traditional concert attire calls for men to wear high black socks underneath their pants so as to show no skin whatsoever. This particular man has been playing in the orchestra for over seven years, and what was he wearing? Ankle high socks!" Sherlock's enthusiasm over the man's choice of footwear still left John perplexed.

"So he didn't have any clean high socks…therefore he dragged our victim into the woods, strangled her, and left her there to rot? Sherlock, I thought we talked about this. Not all of us are capable of following the reasoning of-"

"-a high-functioning genius, I know," finished Sherlock with a tut.

"I was going to say 'mentally unstable sociopath' but I suppose your definition works as well," commented John, picking himself up off the floor and stretching with a grimace.

Sherlock graced John with a raised eyebrow and slight frown. "Sociopath, I'd agree with, but unstable? Compared to your past three girlfriends-"

"Sherlock!" interrupted John hastily, with two hands raised in surrender. "I was kidding! Now, please explain about these socks?"

Before Sherlock pressed the call button on his mobile, he smirked and took a deep breath. "Seven years Derrick Mallon played for the symphony and not once in seven years has he ever worn anything that slightly goes against regulation uniform. How do I know this? Just take a look at the man, a blind man could see it! Meticulously ironed shirts, perfectly creased trousers, buttons on his jacket polished at least twice a month, enough hair product used so that not a single hair falls out of place during three hours of performing. Never in a thousand years would Mallon dream of wearing ankle length socks on the night of a big performance. Now, why would a man who would probably go into cardiac arrest from breaking the rules chose to do just so? Simple. He was incapable of wearing high socks, it would have caused him too much pain? Why? Heracleum mantegazzianum."

"Bless you," said John, eyebrow raised.

Sherlock sighed and swiveled the microscope so that John could take a look. "More commonly known as 'giant hogweed.' It's sap is highly phototoxic, causing severe skin inflammation, itching, rash, and eventually, highly painful blisters after about 48 hours. Once only grown in Central Asia, it was introduced to Britain in the early 19th century, and very commonly found in the forest regions of Oxford. Covering these blisters with any form of material would have been incredibly painful, hence ankle height socks. Look at the crime scene photos and you will see three very prominent Heracleum mantegazzianum plants located around the body. Mallon is our man. I'm having Lestrade take him in for blood testing as we speak," concluded Sherlock, finally pressing the call button on his mobile.

John had his arms crossed during the entirety of Sherlock's explanation. "Socks," he muttered, looking up to the ceiling. "His bloody socks…"

"Lestrade," said Sherlock into his mobile. "Bring in Mallon. Have his legs tested for Heracleum mantegazzianum poisoning. What? No, I can't spell that!" growled Sherlock in frustration. "Just check for blisters, keep him there, and he will confess within the hour, I can assure you." There was a pause. "We will be there in 10 minutes." Sherlock hung up without a goodbye and began striding to the double doors to exit the lab.

John ran to catch up, quickly grabbing his discarded jacket. "But why?"

"Why what?" asked Sherlock, distractedly.

"What motive did Mallon have for killing the first chair violinist? What did he have to gain?"

Sherlock gazed at John as if he had spontaneously grown three heads. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

John refrained from rolling his eyes, exasperated. "Sherlock!-"

"He was in love with her and she rebuffed him. Unable to handle seeing her every single day, he decided to discard of her altogether. No man could have her then, so he would never have to suffer seeing her with someone else." Sherlock began walking again, his long legs putting him some distance ahead of John.

"How..could you possibly know that?" cried John.

"John, really, use your eyes! She was aesthetically pleasing, pretty by most people's standards, correct?" Sherlock stated, speaking of the victim as if he was classifying her scientifically.

"Well yes! She was gorgeous…" trailed off John, this time taking upon his own tone of incredulity at the fact that his friend was questioning the victim's attractiveness. In reality, she was drop dead stunning. She had large amber eyes and long blonde hair, a slim figure, and fairy-like features. A model, really…

Sherlock simply shrugged, making no further remark on her appearance. "And him? A rotund man who would rather spend his time playing billiards at a pub than focusing on his personal hygiene. While he dressed the part, he surely didn't smell it. She was repulsed by him. When we first visited the orchestra demanding who was friends with the victim, do you remember how some of the other violinists glanced Mallon's way?" asked Sherlock, beckoning for a cab as it pulled towards them.

"Hmm…no…but I'll trust you on this one," said John, squeezing in after Sherlock as the cab took off.

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "The victim's friends. She made sure to tell them about Mallon's advances.  
They laughed at him, scoffed at the possibility of a relationship, belittled him. He couldn't take the embarrassment and couldn't bear to see her with another man, not that he needed to worry about that, so he effectively took care of her."

"What do you mean, not that he needed to worry?" asked John as the cab arrived at Scotland Yard just as the sun was setting.

Climbing out of the cab, Sherlock strode away and marched into the building, leaving John to cover the tab. Sherlock glanced at John when his faithful blogger was once again by his side. "She wouldn't have ever dated another man."

"What? Why?" asked John.

Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "She was a lesbian, didn't you see her hair tie?"

"Wh-how-? Wait, you know what? Never mind," stuttered John, following Sherlock into Lestrade's office. By this point in their relationship, John knew better than to question some of Sherlock's more odd assumptions. Sherlock was always right, and that was all that mattered in the long run. The less questions, the less of a headache John had when the case was solved. Just a few months ago, John would have done anything to experience the rapid deductions of the world's only consulting detective. But John had thought his friend was dead, having committed suicide off the very building the two partners left. But here he was again, alive and as snarky as always, and John wouldn't have had it any other way.

The two men entered Lestrade's office, where the gray-haired detective inspector was hanging up his phone. He turned to face the pair. Before he could speak, Sherlock was already asking, "Did you bring him in?"

"Nice to see you as well, Sherlock," sighed Lestrade, with a slight grin playing at his lips. While the DI would never admit it, he too desperately missed the consulting detective, quirks and all.

Sherlock just waited for a response.

Lestrade sighed yet again. "He's in interview 1, we have a man on it."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in frustration. "Lestrade, John and I can handle this ourselves. We don't need one of your inexperienced, idiotic, and quite frankly intellectually challenged team members ruining a perfectly simple confession that I-"

"Well if we are going to resort to name calling, I might as well plug in my two-sense as well," came a light voice from behind the two men. A young woman, about mid-twenties stood leaning against Lestrade's door frame, arms crossed and a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, eyes alight with humour.

"Sherlock, John," started Lestrade. "I'd like to introduce you to our newest officer, Danielle Carter."

For once, Sherlock was silent.


	2. Chapter 2

Dani did not seem to be intimidated by walking in on her being insulted. In fact, it appeared quite the opposite. She obviously found humour in the blunt criticism of the tall figure in front of her.

To the untrained or naïve eye, one would assume that Sherlock was checking out Dani's body or appearance. However, John and Lestrade knew this was not so. In less than four seconds, Sherlock had deduced all he needed to know about this new officer.

She was on the shorter side, no taller than five foot five inches, her height slightly enhanced by the three inch black pumps on her feet. Her clothes were tailored to fit her petite yet slightly curvy body, including straight let grey trousers, a simple blue button up and a black blazer. A professional, then. Takes care in her appearance. Dresses modestly, yet in a way that enhances her athletic physique. Keeps herself in good shape, possibly because of her career in law enforcement, more likely as a stress reliever from a high-demanding job. Her dark brown eyes still appeared to hold a slight laugh at Sherlock's insult. Obviously contained a relatively good sense of humour, didn't appear to take herself too seriously. This was new to Sherlock. Most individuals whom he had insulted decided to either never speak to him again (not that he minded or cared) or have a dramatic emotional response. The woman's lackadaisical attitude was…refreshing.

Defined bone structure, high cheekbones, dark eyes and hair all suggested mid-European descent, most likely Polish from both sides of the family, but Carter was far from a Polish surname. Married, perhaps? No ring. No tan line around the finger, indicating never having been married. Also, not trying to hide an unhappy marriage. Interesting then…most likely remarriage on her mother's side, indicating the new officer held a close relationship with her mother if she was willing to change her last name and disregard that of her father. Bad relationship with paternal figure? Probable.

Has nervous tendencies despite calm exterior. Fingernails obviously bitten extensively, attempted to be disguised by a coat of nail varnish. Failed. Apparently the exercise is not working enough. Dark brown, slightly curly hair, more evidence as to her mid-European blood, haphazardly thrown into a high ponytail to be kept off her face. Nothing fancy, purely convenience. Overall analysis: practical young woman, seemingly of average to slightly higher intelligence, who suffered from some high amounts of stress, most of which coming from her occupation, but most likely not solely. Interest level: not over a 5.7.

John, however, saw a completely different image when he looked upon the young police woman. She was very beautiful, there was no denying that fact, but in a unique sort of way. As Sherlock noted, she was curvy, yet athletic, with prominent features. However, John noticed the warmth in her eyes, the fullness of her lips, and light dimples when she smirked. She seemed to omit a positive and genuine air, and overall appeared to be a very pleasant sort of woman. _This could be interesting…_thought John.

Dani raised an eyebrow at the awkward pause after Lestrade's introduction, in which Sherlock was analyzing her and John was, quite frankly, gawking. She cleared her throat, took a step forward, arms still crossed, and nodded her head to the two men. "Just for the record, this won't be the first confession I glean from a murderer." She still appeared to be silently laughing.

This seemed to snap John out of his thoughts. "I am…so sorry for him. Tact is not his strongest suit," apologized John hastily, stepping forward to shake the young woman's hand. "I'm John, John Watson." He stretched out his hand.

For a split second, so quick that John did not notice it, Dani hesitated, eyeing his hand apprehensively. As quickly as it happened, it ended, and a smile found its way onto her face as she shook the doctor's hand.

"Dani Carter," she replied warmly. She looked over to the taller man, ready to shake his hand as well. However, when Sherlock made no effort to stretch out his arm, Dani seemed unperturbed and perhaps even a little relieved. Sherlock noted her subtle changes in mood and stored them in his brain.

Lestrade looked up to his newest recruit. "And that is our anti-social consultant, Sherlock Holmes," said Lestrade, offhandedly. "Dani, you ready to go?"

"You bet, just give one second," she replied, taking the hair tie out of her wavy dark hair, running her fingers through it as she tamed it. She then took off her blazer and untucked her button up. John was slightly taken aback as she continued her transformation, while Sherlock remained impassive. If she was doing what he thought she was doing, then the interest level just went up to a 7.3.

Without further ado, Dani left the room with a slight wave and walked down the hall to the interrogation room. Sherlock and John watched as she took a deep breath before plastering an incredibly fake smile on, grabbing the case file, and opening the door.

John and Sherlock looked at each other for half a second before quickly hustling over to the video monitor to watch the interview. This was new…

"Hello, there!" said Dani as she entered the cold, metallic room where Derrick Mallon was sitting, handcuffed to the silver table, head downcast. As he heard the chipper voice of the young officer, his head tilted up, and his eyes widened when he saw her appearance. When he saw Dani, he couldn't help but recognize Amber…Amber, the woman he had loved, the woman he had killed…

While the colour of hair was different, the texture and length was nearly identical. Even her clothing was strikingly similar to what Amber would normally wear. Her bone structure, the warmth in her eyes…it was all so similar. The only intense difference was that when Amber looked at Derrick, all he saw was loathing, while the officer showed nothing care.

"My name is Sergeant Carter, but you can call me Danielle," said Dani, as she situated herself across from Derrick, making sure to keep eye contact with the killer. "I'm here to talk about what happened a couple of days ago, is that okay with you?"

Derrick simply nodded, staring at the young woman's wavy locks.

Dani noticed where his gaze was. Internally, she felt as if her blood was replaced with ice as fear and discomfort gripped her heart. She wanted to leave, she wanted to leave now. She didn't like the way he looked at her, as if she was meat, as if she was Amber… Externally, she just smiled at the man's response.

"Okay then!" she said, her chipper voice never faltering. "Would you mind explaining the relationship you had with Ms. Amber Sullivan?" When Dani pronounced the victim's name, she was sure to add a tone of disapproval.

Derrick cleared his throat before he began to speak in a low tone. "She was in the orchestra as me. First chair violin. Concert mistress. I saw her every day." His voice was deadpan, as if all emotion had left his body on the day he strangled Amber Sullivan.

"And how often did you speak to her?" prompted Dani leaning forward on her elbows.

His gaze flickered from her light curls to her chest. Dani tried very hard not to vomit.

"Only once," he drawled, keeping his gaze steadfast. _Don't move, don't move, don't move,_ she muttered repeatedly, not wanting to upset Mallon.

"And what happened during that conversation?" she said with a sweet smile, careful not to overdo it.

Derrick's face contorted into a seething scowl, his face scrunching up and his teeth baring. "The little WHORE!" he roared, pounding his huge fist onto the metal table, his handcuff smashing against the surface with a resounding clang. While Dani's heart raced, her arms continued to stay on the table, and she did not so much as blink at his outburst.

"Yes, so I have heard from the rumours amongst your colleagues," she said, as if nothing had just transpired. "She apparently had quite the little reputation. Quite the character, that one," said Dani with a look of distaste on her face.

Up to this point, John and Sherlock had watched without so much as a whisper, Lestrade standing not far behind them. However, at this last comment of Dani's, John spoke up. "That's…not true at all. No one said anything of the sort about the victim."

"Shh!" said Sherlock, hand raised in a gesture to silence the man beside him. His gaze never left the monitor.

Back in the interview room, Dani's comment sparked something in Mallon.

"You…you think she was a..whore as well?" he said, eyes wide as saucers.

Finally, Dani leaned back into her chair in a comfortable position. "Are you kidding? Who wouldn't think that?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Leading someone on, only to humiliate them in front of their coworkers? She had it coming, didn't she?"

"That's what I said to her!" said Derrick, excited by the fact someone agreed with him. "I told her! I said if she thought she could treat people like that, then she had another thing coming!"

"Without a doubt!" said Dani, in a genuine tone, nodding her head adamantly. "She was cruel. It was only fair that her end should be cruel as well."

"I only did what was fair!" Mallon exclaimed, animating his hands in an enthusiastic manner.

Dani leaned forward again, arms crossed on the table. "She got what she deserved, Derrick. Tell me what happened."

And he did. Every single grisly, gruesome, grotesque detail, he confided to the young woman sitting in front of him. He left nothing to the imagination. The abduction from the parking lot, the drugging, the strangulation, the beating, the burying (or lack thereof), and the satisfaction at the fairness of it all. Finally, after twenty minutes of the hell, he finished his story, wearing a big dopey grin on his face as he leaned forward, his face only inches away from Dani's.

"But you know what?" he said, in a euphoric phase.

"What is it?" asked Dani, knowing she didn't want to hear the answer.

"She never understood me, never listened to me the way you do, Sweetheart," he swooned, placing a paunchy hand over her small one.

Sherlock studied the young woman as her face drained of colour, her countenance of calm and control fleeing her body at his words. She swayed for a moment, her eyes becoming glassy, as if forgetting where she was. Then, reality snapped back into her. She became the epitome of calm and control yet again as she removed her hand from the man's grasp, stood up, and without another word, exited the room. What Sherlock failed to notice was Lestrade's similar reaction to the killer's choice of words.

She leaned into the wall for a couple seconds, before John, Sherlock and Lestrade saw her. She felt like she was going to be sick. She looked down at her clenched fists and saw them trembling. _Pull your shit together, Dani,_ she ordered. Standing tall, she held her head up as she walked past the three men. "There is your confession." She nodded to them as she walked quickly past, Lestrade noting how a meeting with the young sergeant was necessary. Immediately.

As she walked down the hallway, Dani couldn't help but feel two crystal blue eyes bore into her back as she went.

_Maybe an 8.4,_ thought Sherlock.

….

**Thank you to everyone who has started following this story! It's been in the back of my brain for ages! Tell me what you think!**

**FYI, I don't own Sherlock. No duh.**


	3. Chapter 3

Dani made her way quickly, yet calmly, to the restrooms located down the hall. Keeping her calm demeanor, she entered a stall, placed the seat down so as to cover the top, sat down, crossed her legs, and released a deep, shuddering breath that wracked her body.

_Breathe, dammit! _she told herself, forcing herself to inhale and exhale rhythmically. She felt nauseous.

She could feel Mallon's pudgy, clammy hand clasped over hers, could smell his cheap cologne mixing with foul body odor, and she could hear him, his voice…calling her that name…_Sweetheart._

But suddenly it wasn't Mallon's voice she heard. It wasn't his nasal, too-high alto, but a deep cigarette-infused tenor, whispering her name over and over…_my sweetheart…_

"Stop it!" said Dani, audibly, covering her ears with her hands, eyes shut tight as she shoved the voice from her mind. She quickly held her tongue, praying that no other woman was in another stall, listening to her mild panic attack. She was safe, though. Nobody was here but her.

_I am not a child, _Dani chastised herself. _I am a full-grown adult, who needs to PULL HER SHIT TOGETHER!_

Dani took one last deep breath, stood up, brushed her trousers to eliminate all wrinkles, and stepped out of the stall. Upon looking into the mirror above the sink, Dani watches as some of the colour returned to her cheeks. She quickly threw her hair into a quick braid, and checked her watch. 15 minutes had gone by, much to Dani's dismay. She could have sworn it was only a couple minutes, no more than 5 surely! She shook her head and exited the restroom.

Dani made a beeline for her desk, knowing already that Lestrade would be there waiting for her. He heard the interview, saw everything. He was a smart man, he would have recognized the trigger.

A few meters away from her desk, Dani peaked around the corner and saw the grey-haired DI perching on the edge of her desk, concern etched in his features. Dani allowed herself a small smile. She was genuinely touched by Lestrade's concern and care for her mental well-being. He was a paternal figure to Dani, one that she always knew she could rely on. She didn't want to upset him, though, or concern him. Plastering a false, yet convincing smile on her face, Dani turned the corner and marched over to Greg.

As she went, she couldn't help but be glad that Mr. Holmes was not present. She had a feeling her bright-eyed façade would be meaningless when presented to the detective.

…

"I already told you, John, I refuse to go!"

John plopped himself down into his chair, completely exasperated. He was dealing with a child. A 6'0, fully grown, deducing child with the common sense of a slug and manners equivalent to a three year old. He really needed to get paid for living with the one and only Mr. Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes.

It was the 15 year anniversary of the MIT division of Scotland Yard, or the Murder/Major Investigation Teams. Founded in 2000, MIT came to be the most divisions of Scotland Yard in history. One of the numerous sub-divisions under MIT was captained by none other than DI Gregory Lestrade. Due to the anniversary, the Prime Minister saw it fit to celebrate with a gala, in which the PM himself would address Scotland Yard and all those attending to congratulate them on their numerous achievements.

It was well-known that many of these achievements were due to the sulking child in front of John. Sherlock had solved case after case, all for little to no compensation. Therefore, Lestrade had invited (aka heavily insinuated) that Sherlock and John's presence would be very much necessary at the gala. "John, you can even bring Mary! Just make sure Sherlock gets his ass to the museum, please?" asked Lestrade, hoping that Mary's presence would entice John to go as well. John had simply given Lestrade a friendly pat on the shoulder, promising that Sherlock would indeed be there.

"Too bad, Sherlock, Greg is expecting you there," sighed John, picking up the newspaper. He chuckled when he saw the cover photo. Sherlock, dark curls dripping wet, was hovering to the side of a handcuffed man. Behind said man was none other than Ms. Danielle Carter, who was more thoroughly soaked than Sherlock and looking extremely pissed off. The title read "CRIME-FIGHTING DUO AND NEW SCOTLAND YARD ADDITION TACKLE DRUG SMUGGLER."

"What do I care what Greg expects of me?" asked Sherlock, jolting John back to the present. Sherlock was lying on his back on his couch, throwing a tennis ball onto the ceiling and catching it repeatedly.

"Because whether you admit it or not, Greg is your friend, and he rarely asks anything of you," said John with an eye roll.

"Rarely asks? John, we solve his crimes for him at least twice a week!" cried Sherlock. "And 'friend' is a strong choice of word-"

"And jumping off a building and faking your own suicide is a strong action done to protect someone you don't consider a friend," said John, with a slight bite in his voice. He regretted his statement the moment it left his lips. Sherlock caught the ball and kept his arm in mid-air as he stared at the ceiling. Clearing his throat, Sherlock spun his legs off the sofa and sat up. "What time, exactly? I was planning on going to the morgue to examine how human spleens are affected by blow-torches while placed in a freezer."

"Oh!- Um…that…isn't very pleasant…" said John with a grimace. "It's this Friday, six till midnight."

Sherlock looked thoughtfully and the light green ball in his hands. "Fine."

John was stunned. This was…too easy. "Really?" he asked.

Sherlock looked up, annoyed. "Yes, I said I'd go. Happy?"

"Ecstatic…" said John, looking for an angle.

Sherlock smirked. "There is no ulterior motive, John. Honestly, you expect so little of me." Sherlock pretended to look hurt as he stood, stepped on top of and then over the coffee table and towards the kitchen to start the kettle.

John smiled to himself. "Oh, and Dani will be there, you know!" shouted John over his shoulder to Sherlock's retreating form.

Sherlock poked his head out from the kitchen door. "Your point?"

"Don't play dumb, Sherlock. You know she interests you," said John, looking again at the picture.

Sherlock scoffed. "Interests? Not in the slightest, I assure you. She is just another one of Lestrade's minions, nothing more, nothing less. Not even a 3," he stated, yet he knew it was a lie. He had admitted to himself previously that she was an 8.4. No reason John needed to know that though. Just because he found a reasonably aesthetically pleasing woman semi-interesting on an intellectual level, John immediately decided she meant something more to the detective. Pure folly.

"Um-hm," said John, unconvinced. "Well, nevertheless, she will be there."

"Good for her," said Sherlock, turning on the kettle.

"I hope the bruising went down," said John with a slight frown, remembering the case.

"It's been 8 days. By Friday, it will have been almost two weeks. With her complexion being far from fair, and the amount of injuries she sustains on probably a semi-monthly basis due to her occupation, I suspect the bruising will be down significantly," said Sherlock, re-entering the living room. "And besides, don't women have that…make-up powder-cream-mousse whatever it is that they smear all over themselves to hide blemishes? She can just use that."

John shrugged and looked down at the paper. "I'm sure she will look very lovely," he said eyeing Sherlock, not-too-stealthily. "Her being in a gown and all…"

"Hmm," said Sherlock emotionlessly, grabbing the tennis ball again. Sighing and Sherlock's lack of enthusiasm over the pretty young woman, John let his mind wander back 8 days ago to the case he and Sherlock worked with her.

…

"I don't think you should be here, Mr. Holmes," said Dani in a hushed voice, looking over her shoulder at the cottage behind her. "Just in case things go wrong."

"Let me assure you, Ms. Carter, I am the one person you most certainly want around if things go wrong." He gave her one of his trademark steely blue stares that seemed to cut right through Dani's concern.

Dani gave a slight nod, a wan smile and a "If you say so, Mr. Holmes." She readjusted her ear-piece and turned away from the detective, focusing her attention on the abode of Mr. Livesy.

"Sherlock."

"Pardon?" she asked, turning,

"Just Sherlock. None of this 'Mr. Holmes' business. That was reserved for my father and now my brother, and I'd rather be unassociated with the both of them," he clarified, never once breaking eye contact with the cottage.

"Oh…okay. Sherlock it is then," said Dani, just as Greg's voice came through her ear-set. _Okay guys, move in._

Dani turned to Sherlock before setting out. "Please Sherlock, stay behind me okay? I'd rather you not get hurt."

"I'll go where needed, I promise."

"Sherlock! I'm serious!"

A pause. "I'll be close, don't worry."

"SHERLOCK!" But he had already headed out, much to Dani's apparent frustration. _He's lucky he's so easy on the eyes, or I swear to God I'd knock that smug-ass smile straight off that pretty little face…_ she grumbled to herself, jogging after the man, taking her firearm out of its protective casing. This was not the first time she had worked with the consulting detective since the Mallon case, and she could confidently state that not a minute was boring when Sherlock Holmes was present. She just wished he wasn't so damn stubborn! Believe it or not she DID know what she was doing. Sherlock just didn't seem to get the memo.

The case at present had been open since Monday, three days prior. With Sherlock's help, Lestrade and his team, including Dani, had been able to track down Abraham Livesy, a drug-dealer gone murderer once a drug deal turned into a major drug bust. This was no simple-minded drug dealer in a dark side alley. No, this was a member of a major drug team, stretching across Europe. And Scotland Yard got in their way. This wasn't going to be pretty, thought Dani.

Dani and another officer stood to either side of the front door, careful to avoid windows or cracks. The officer banged hard on the door. "Mr. Livesy! Would you please open up! This is Scotland Yard!" Dani could almost feel Sherlock rolling his eyes.

"Oh yes," he whispered sarcastically. "Let's open up for the cops that are armed and ready to give your 15-35 years in prison. Would you care for some tea and biscuits as well?" Dani bristled, on edge due to the situation.

"This isn't a game, Mr. Holmes! It's protocol!"

"Sherlock."

"What?! Are you fucking kidding?!"

"I told you before, I-"

An ear-shattering bang erupted above Dani, as bullets pierced through the glass window to her left, showering her with hunks of glass, both large and small. "GET DOWN!" she cried, grabbing onto Sherlock's grey coat and forcing him to the right, out of range of the sharp glass. She could feel slight trickles of blood running down her brow and cheek. "SHERLOCK, STAY!" she ordered, as if speaking to an untrained puppy. She turned to the other officer. "You bring Donovan with you and go through the front. There is a back door leading back into the woods, it's the only way to run. I'll cut him off there."

And with that, Dani was off, sprinting around the house, still hearing the shots. Through it all, she heard Sherlock's voice yelling after her. She knew she should have taken another officer with her, but there was no one else. The others were either along the perimeter, making sure he didn't escape through that route, or entering via the front. And no way in hell was she taking Sherlock. That could only end in disaster.

Just as she rounded the corner, she saw Livesy, a 6'5 brute of a man with biceps the size of her waist, emerge with a semi-automatic weapon strapped around his shoulder, sprinting through the back. He hadn't seen her. She knew she could use this to her advantage.

"He's in the back, I've got eyes on him. Backup required," she muttered into her microphone, signaling the other officers and Greg. Stealthily, she followed, matching his pace with ease. He was stronger, without a doubt, but being so burly meant he left an obvious trail, one that Dani's athletic, shorter physique could easily match and trace.

Finally, after what seemed like ages but was only 2 minutes or so, Dani finally thought she had him. There was an overpass of land, ending in a sloping, rocky hill and leading into a river. There was nowhere else for Livesy to go and yet…he wasn't here.

Breathing heavily, Dani frowned to herself as she looked all around her. She heard familiar footsteps behind her, that of her backup, when all of a sudden she felt the air rush out of her body as she was tackled and thrown over onto the hill. She heard a muffled cry from above her and then only her own gasps and cries as she and Livesy tumbled down the slope.

Just when Dani thought she couldn't handle much more of the vicious assault, it stopped with a wet splash into an ice cold river. Gasping, Dani grappled to her feet and subsequently stumbled back onto her ass, dazed, winded and hurt. Ignoring the pain, she dragged herself into a kneeling position, frantically looking for the man who slammed into her in a last ditch effort to escape arrest.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dani saw movement. Letting instinct take over, she struck out with her right fist and managed to surprise Livesy with a blow to his jaw. She felt the bone shudder under her fist as the man cried out in surprise and pain. While facing away from her due to the blow, Dani followed up with an elbow to the neck, which caused him to cough and stagger.

Before Dani could land her last blow, Livesy quickly recovered and grabbed the arm she was swinging, twisting it around her back until she heard a _pop_ as her shoulder was freed from its socket. Crying out in pain, Dani stumbled, allowing Livesy to throw her beaten body into the river.

Dani felt his hand on her neck as he forced her face first into the icy water and held her there. Struggling frantically, Dani attempted to lift her head as she felt her oxygen escaping her. She quickly remembered her training as she slowed her body down and played dead. After another two or three seconds, Livesy lightened his grasp on the woman.

His mistake. Dani threw her head back viciously, feeling the back of her skull connecting with the man's incisors. He screamed in pain as Dani stumbled from the blow, feeling blood trickle down her neck from the bite. While he was down she threw a well-placed knee into the man's crotch, causing the air to rush out of him.

By the time Sherlock sprinted down the hill as safely as possible to aid the young officer, Dani had Livesy on his stomach howling in pain as she kicked him again in the ribs.

"SHUT!" Kick. "THE FUCK" Kick. "UP, YOU" Kick. "FUCKING" Kick. "BASTARD!" Kick. Livesy futility tried to grab her foot to no avail. Dani would have none of it. This dick tackled her down a fucking rocky hill and attempted the drown her and he had the nerve to cry out in pain due to a kick to the ribs? Oh hell no.

"DANIELLE!" cried Sherlock, grabbing onto her un-dislocated shoulder. She fought him off and proceeded to kick the druggie.

"Danielle! Stop it-DANI!" he cried, finally managing to get a tight grip on the girl as she stopped struggling in his arms. She breathed very raggedly, as she hung there.

Finally, she spoke. "Ow…" Sherlock wasn't sure which wound she was referring to, but decided to gently sit the woman on the ground, draping his coat over her shoulders (he noticed her lips had a slightly blue tinge to them) and removed her handcuffs from her possession, placing them on Livesy.

Sherlock heard a commotion above him, on the jut of land right above the hill. He saw Lestrade's unmistakable silver hair and John's dirty blonde head peak over the edge. "SHERLOCK!" yelled down John, concern evident in his voice. No doubt Sherlock's clamber down the stony hill caused John a significant amount of alarm.

Lestrade too shouted down. "DANI! You okay? Dani!" Lestrade had more reason to worry than Dr. Watson. While Sherlock's descent was far from graceful, Dani's was a pure plummet, and on top of that a vicious battle in a near frozen river with a murderous drug lord.

Sherlock called back up to the two men. "She's here, she's…." Well _fine_ wouldn't be the word Sherlock would was looking for. It was evident by the way Dani carried her right shoulder that it was dislocated. The glazed look in her eyes suggested a concussion, and quite a painful one at that, judging by her slight grimace. Her face had cuts from the shattered window glass, and bruise marks were already beginning to form around her throat from the massive hands of Livesy when he held her head under water. Sherlock correctly assumed that at least three of her ribs were cracked due to the severe tumble down the cliff. Overall analysis: not in critical condition, but hospital attention necessary. "She's okay!...ish" he called back up, lacking a better word to alleviate Lestrade and John's worry.

"ISH? What do you mean 'ish?' Did he just say 'ish?'" Lestrade asked John, slightly panicked. Sherlock just rolled his eyes. There was no reason for the man to worry. Dani was a hell of a lot better off than the man currently groaning in the mud. Sherlock couldn't help but be impressed with the young woman. Despite her injuries, she managed to take down a man over a foot taller than her and who weighed at least twice as much in solid muscle. Sherlock eyed her as she leaned against a big tree, breathing raggedly. Who was this woman? And why on Earth did he feel impressed? Sherlock Holmes was NEVER impressed!

Dani looked up then and saw the confused expression on Sherlock's face. She could read the question on his face. Taking in another ragged breath, she simply said, "He started it."

"And you most certainly finished it," muttered Sherlock, eyeing the bruised man.

Dani shrugged, and then winced at her shoulder's movement. "It was him or me."

"I take it that happens a lot?" asked Sherlock, judging his deduction on the severity of the man's beating and the skill and practice necessary to take him down.

Dani lifted the left side of her mouth in a cute (did he just think cute? Why is it cute? What?) half smile. "Every once in a while."

Sherlock eyed her curiously. She didn't seem to want to give out very much information. "Who taught you how to do that?"

The smile was gone. If Sherlock thought he saw a dark expression flicker in her eyes, it was only for a moment, and then it was gone the next instant. "It's police stuff, Mr.-Sherlock. They teach you."

_Lie_ thought Sherlock, but for once in his life kept his mouth closed.

"And uh- this police _stuff_" he emphasized. "You are quite good at it, yes?" His piercing stare was on her yet again, causing her to feel as if he could strip her down of every lie, cover, or story she ever told.

"Very," she replied, honestly.

Sherlock smirked. Dani found she liked his smile, the dimple it formed and the way it would, if you were lucky enough to witness a genuine Sherlock smile, reach his glassy eyes. "Officer Carter, I think I will enjoy working with you very much indeed."

The cute smile came back.

…..

**Please let me know what you guys think! How do you like Dani? BE HONEST!**


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later found the duo in the back of a taxi, both in formal tuxedos, one looking slightly more affable than the other. Sherlock was uncomfortable. Granted, he did not normally walk around in casual clothes, his entire wardrobe consisting of nice dress pants and button downs (and the occasional t-shirt). That being said, he felt slightly ludicrous donning a tuxedo. The last time he wore one of these, he was attending his father's funeral.

Sighing yet again, Sherlock looked out the window at the cloudy night sky, contemplating the appropriate amount of time to stay before leaving without being considered rude, or even more of a freak. John, as if reading his thoughts, grumbled, "Five hours."

"Pardon?" said Sherlock, with a raised eyebrow. He sometimes wondered if John read minds.

"Five hours, not a second less. Can you hold your tongue that long?" said John, with a good-natured smirk on his lips. Sherlock rolled his eyes, a slight twitch of a smile infecting even his sullen face.

"I suppose I can survive," he sighed, looking back to the window. Much to Sherlock's irritation, he found his thoughts wandering to Dani again. Only the other day, Lestrade had casually informed Sherlock of yet another tidbit of information concerning the 8.4 young woman: she had a boyfriend. David Cortes, a security something-or-other from somewhere, Sherlock was not paying particularly close attention. He was still ruminating over the fact that Dani was in a relationship.

This didn't bother him. Of course it didn't bother him. Why would it? Why should he care? Who was she to him? Nothing, just a woman who works for Lestrade, nothing more. Then why did he find himself caught up on this little fact concerning Dani's personal life? After a bit more thought, Sherlock figured it out.

Not once in any of the instances Sherlock had been around Dani had she ever mentioned a significant other in any way, shape or form. No photos on her desk, no bits of jewelry that would have been convenient gifts from a beaux, no casual, "I have a date tonight, sorry" excuse when Lestrade or another officer would offer to take the team out for drinks at night. It was odd, uncommon, and bizarre for a young woman of marrying age to not have some sort of excitement or obsession over her relationship status. Unhappy? Most definitely.

Furthermore, Sherlock has irritated by the fact he could not deduce her relationship status by observing her. Then again, as he already noted, there was nothing about her appearance to suggest a boyfriend. So in all honesty, his lack of deduction had nothing to do with a fault of his own. It wasn't his fault the woman refused to leave a dissatisfactory relationship. And that was the end of that.

Yet here he was again, thinking of her. He needed a drink.

...

Two hours. It had been two hours since John and Sherlock had stepped out of their taxi and into he gala, and John could see Sherlock's discomfort clear as day. Too many people, too many false smiles, too many victims for deduction. But John had to admit that Sherlock was doing well so far; no one had run away from the duo in tears. The night was proving to be a success.

So far, they had seen Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and a couple other familiar faces from Lestrade's division. Shockingly, however, John had yet to see Dani. But it was crowded and everybody looked so different, as if they were playing dress-up. He didn't know if he would even recognize the young woman.

John was in the middle of a casual conversation with Greg when Sherlock motioned that he was going to grab a drink at the bar, giving him questioning eyes asking if John wanted one. When John shook his head, Sherlock excused himself and made his way over to the bar.

Three more hours...just three more hours. Sherlock could do it...but it was as if these people were just asking to be deduced! Adulterer, porn fetish, FOOT fetish, heroin addict, drug dealer, high school drop out, bankrupt, egotistical-

"Hello, Sherlock," said a soft voice from behind him. A small body sidled up next to him at the bar, causing Sherlock to look over.

Dani. She had donned scarlet halter gown, with a thin satin ribbon looping around her slender neck, a loose fit around the bust, a cinched waist held by a ribbon tied in a bow on her back, and a graceful, flowing bottom half of the dress. From the angle she was standing, Sherlock could see the back of the dress was lower, revealing her upper back and even a bit lower. She wore silver pumps, not too high, just high enough to bring her up to Sherlock's shoulder. Her hair was thrown up in a loose up-do, nothing more than a slightly elegant bun. The majority of her make up was natural and light, a slight silver eyeshadow and mascara, but she had a scarlet lipstick to match the dress. She was smiling at him, taking in his uncharacteristic attire.

"You look very nice, Sherlock! You clean up quite well," she said with a smile in her eyes.

"As do you, Officer Carter," he said with a smirk, taking in her appearance another time. Red really did suit her dark hair...Sherlock shook his head slightly, disengaging the uncharacteristic thought from his mind.

"Sherlock, after the intensity of our last encounter, as well as the adamant nature with which you asked me to call you by your first name, I think it is safe to say we are on a first name basis, don't you agree?" Sherlock noticed the teasing-tone in her voice and chuckled slightly, remembering himself telling her to call him 'Sherlock' in the midst of a shoot-out.

"You make an excellent point Ms.- Dani," he said, correcting himself.

Dani giggled. "Ms. Dani, close enough." She smiled, looking up at him as the bartender refilled her glass. Sherlock noticed a look of exhaustion in her eyes. She appeared to not be sleeping very well, and the slight puffiness under her eyes confirmed his hypothesis. He looked over her very quickly, taking in the locations which previously held bruises from Livesy's assault. Shoulders, back and arms all appeared back to normal. However, Sherlock noticed that there was a slightly heavier layer of cover-up on her right cheekbone. A bit more had rubbed onto the ribbon around her neck, concealing he bruises that Sherlock assumed were finger-shaped. Finally, he noted cover-up in a slightly unorthodox area: her forearms. Sherlock's brow furrowed. He didn't remember Dani having any marks there after the attack...and furthermore, the rest of her bruises should have been long healed by now as well...

Dani noticed where Sherlock's gaze was. Her body tensed and she quickly took the glass from the bartender, moving her arms out of Sherlock's view.

"Dani-" he began, but he was interrupted by a boisterous voice.

"Well if it isn't the infamous Detective Sherlock Holmes chatting up my girl!" A thick arm snaked its way around Dani's waist, dragging her to a man's side. Sherlock looked upon said man and could only identify him as David Cortes, Dani's boyfriend.

He was tall, about two or three inches taller than Sherlock himself, and towered over Dani despite her meager attempt at heels. He had dark, slicked back short hair and a light coating of dark facial hair. His skin was tan, representing his Hispanic heritage. His eyes were hard and dark and when he smiled, it appeared more of a mocking gesture than a genuine one. His slick black tux somehow managed to NOT conceal his physique: it was obvious he was incredibly built. Sherlock could easily tell that he was in fact, in some kind of security field.

In Sherlock's once-over, he was able to deduce all he needed to about the man in front of him. 'Possessive' came across loud and clear in his stance. Dani was held close to his side, while his other hand was casually placed in his pocket as if posing for a photo shoot. Not once had he looked at Dani except when he grabbed onto her waist. So she was there for show...Sherlock felt his stomach flip in anger at this realization.

Obviously, David was a victim of low-self esteem. Feels the need to put on a show in front of people he has never met before. His tux and gelled hair gave him the appearance of financial prowess, yet Sherlock observed slight fraying on the man's trousers and cuffs, thus proving it to simply be a cheap rental. Finally, Sherlock looked at the man's hands: very large and rough. Security workers do not necessarily do manual labor, so the callouses were most likely due to intense gym workouts. Cares about appearance both physically and financially, then.

All in all, Sherlock was not a fan.

Dani looked up at her boyfriend (a comical sight due to the intense height difference) and offered him a light smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He didn't even look at her, and therefore missed the gesture.

"Mr. Cortes, I presume," said Sherlock stiffly, breaking the awkward tension after David's previous statement.

"A great deduction, Mr. Holmes," scoffed Cortes, his mocking smile coming back again.

"David," started Dani, finally earning her a glance from her boyfriend. "This is Sherlock Holmes, the detective I work with occasionally. Sherlock, this is David, my boyfriend." She smiled at Sherlock very briefly before turning her gaze back to David.

"Hmm, yes I think we figured that much out for ourselves, thanks babe," said David with that damn smile. Dani's smile faltered only minutely, but enough for Sherlock to see. "So what were you two giggling about over here?" This time Dani's lack of smile was a bit more obvious.

Sherlock intervened. "Simply about a case, nothing more." His eyes met Dani's and she seemed to give him a silent 'thank you.' Sherlock knew that they couldn't exactly explain that they were discussing calling each other by a first-name basis. He had a hunch that this would not appeal to David's self-esteem.

"A case?" said David, with a raised-eyebrow. "Murder is a cause to giggle?" Sherlock sighed with frustration. He added 'antagonistic' to the list of David's flaws.

"Simply recalling a particularly idiotic accomplice on a robbery, nothing too extreme." Sherlock gave a tight-lipped smile. The tension could be cut by a butter-knife.

David gave a quiet 'hum,' and Sherlock could only assume that he accepted the lie. Dani looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight from foot to foot, eyes slightly downcast. Sherlock decided to remove himself from the situation so as to not cause Dani anymore discomfort. He doubted his presence was really helping the situation.

"Well!" said Sherlock, after another awkward pause. "I'll just take this-" he grabbed his drink, "-and head back to John. Dani," Dani looked up to meet Sherlock's steely eyes. His gaze penetrated her eyes, and in that instant she knew that Sherlock could read her like a book. Make-up or not, it would be as if the bruises were highlighted, screaming 'look at me!' Dani gulped. "Dani, I will see you at work. David-" Sherlock turned to the giant next to him. "...pleasure," said Sherlock, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.

Sherlock's gaze met Dani's one last time. Dani wanted to tell him to stay...to not leave her just yet, but she knew that was not wise. Sherlock's gaze was as calm and cool as ever, but with a slight edge to it that Dani could not identify. Irritation? Frustration? Probably. No doubt David was boring him by this point. She knew it couldn't be concern or anger on her behalf. That wasn't Sherlock's nature, not his way.

He left.

David finally looked down at her. She wished he wouldn't.

...

The car ride back to Dani's flat was silent. Not a single sound permeated the car. Dani wanted to fold into her seat, let the warm leather consume her and pillow her head as she slept...she just wanted to sleep, to forget, to feel relaxed. But every time she closed her eyes, she would tense. She wasn't at home, not yet...

They pulled up to her door, and Dani slid out of the passenger's side door, grabbing her key from her purse. She felt David's arm around her again as he nuzzled her neck. Dani blinked...it was going to be another one of those nights it would seem.

The second they entered the flat, David had Dani pressed up against the wall as he kissed her neck. She winced as he sucked on one of her bruises. His hands found their way to the ribbon around her neck and untied it, the fabric falling down her front and freeing her chest. Dani's eyes flew open.

"David, no! Stop," she fumbled for the fabric to cover herself up, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them lightly, yet firmly, on the wall with one hand, kissing down her neck as she tried to shimmy away. "David!" She was panicking, her eyes wide and beginning to tear.

"Can't you just go with it for once," David murmured, agitation beginning to creep into his voice as he turned his attention back to her chest as he sucked and nipped, causing her to grimace and her stomach to churn.

"David, please, you promised, please stop..." she started to cry a little. She couldn't help it, she was scared. She didn't want it to happen again, not again, and he promised. She detested feeling weak, sounding pathetic, but she didn't know what else to do. It wasn't as if she could fight him, he was at least three times her weight in solid muscle.

David sighed dramatically, and his grip tightened around her already injured wrists. She winced. "You just love doing this to me, don't you?" He was angry. She could see it.

"I don't know-"

"Yes, you do," he growled, as his other hand dug painfully into her hip bone. "Dress up like this, tease me, let me see what is mine but not let me have it. You do realize that is the definition of a 'slut' don't you?" Dani flinched at his choice of words.

"I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did!" he growled as he thrust her back into the wall, throwing his hands off of her. Her head hit the wall, but she shook it off quickly in order to re-tie her dress. She rubbed her wrists as he continued. "It's been nine months, NINE MONTHS!" he roared as Dani jumped and backed up farther into the house, stumbling over her heels. "Nine months I've put up with this chastity shit. What, you don't like it when I touch you? Do I disgust you?"

"No-I-I-of c-course not, no-"

"ANSWER ME!" he roared, and his hand lashed out, backhanding Dani across her cheek. Her teeth bit into her lip and she felt a trail of blood gently drip down her chin. She landed on her hip on the hardwood floor.

She breathed heavily, too scared to say anything else. She kept her eyes cast downward, onto the floor. She always thought it was so neat, how wood has such spiraled patterns, like one big circular maze. She imagined what it would be like, walking around in circles, trying to find a way out. It was so pretty...

David was breathing heavily as well. "It's because of him, isn't it?" he said quietly, as he wiped a slight sheen of sweat from his forehead. She knew she shouldn't have allowed him to have that last scotch. But what was she supposed to do? Say no? Yeah right.

She was confused now. Who was he talking about? She looked up at him now.

He laughed, disgusted. "Oh God, enough with the act, Sweetheart." The word blowed into her chest. He knew, and he called her that anyway. He KNEW. He said that just to hurt her, to scare her, and it worked. "You'd rather be fucking him, wouldn't you? That pale scarecrow, the asshole detective, your 'consulting detective' with the big brain."

Sherlock? How on Earth-

"Sherlock and I-no-we work together sometimes, that's it, I promise-"

"But you wish it was more, wouldn't you? Would you let him touch you? Let him kiss you, make you whimper? Fuck you?" he said as he got closer and closer to her. She backed up slowly, pushing her body back on the wood until she ran into a desk leg.

"Stop it, David," she said with as much force as she could muster. She swore she would never let anyone speak to her like that again. Yet here she was again.

"Me? Stop?" He pulled her up by her upper arms until her feet didn't touch the ground. She felt like a rag doll. She had a doll once, when she was little...her only toy...was she a toy? She didn't want to be...

He shook her hard, her neck snapping. "DON'T YOU EVER TELL ME WHAT TO DO! EVER!" He shoved her into the wall again and hit her in the ribs. She felt the air leave her body. " I know it is because of him, you lying slut!" He kicked her. She tried to run to her bedroom. He grabbed her hair, pulling out the bun and letting it fall down her bruised shoulders.

He hit her, once, twice...one more time, or was it three? Dani wondered why neighbors could be so nosy when they wanted something, but the second they heard something that required help, they suddenly forgot about all the borrowed food ingredients, offers to help carry groceries, and casual conversations on the stoop.

It stopped. Dani coughed and the bitter taste of blood that she knew all to well bubbled on her lips. She didn't know why she was crying. She wasn't feeling particularly sad. Just cold. Did she turn the thermostat down before the gala? She couldn't remember, it felt like a week ago. She wished she had a blanket.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she might have been crying for her dress. It was so pretty...so light and loose, not too clingy...so delicate. She felt like a princess when she tried it on...like a woman. Pretty. Maybe even beautiful, but that might have been a stretch. David's only comment had been a once over and a dilation of pupils. It had made Sherlock smile. Sherlock never smiled. When he smiled, he had a light dimple on his right cheek...

Anyway, the dress was ruined now. The top was ripped. Blood stained the already scarlet fabric, but now it was mottled with dark brown stains. Dirt covered her bum from when she backed away on the floor. Such a pretty dress...

David was calm now. His gigantic arms were around her waist, encircling her as he rested his forehead on the back of her head. He was crying a bit. Funny...he didn't ruin his suit...why was he crying?

"My beautiful girl..." he sighed as he held her close. " _Mi paloma, _my baby." She never understood why people used that word as a term of endearment. She was twenty-seven...she wasn't a baby, she never was. "Do you see what you do to me? How much I love you?" When people love you, they hurt you. She knew that already, she didn't need him to tell her that. She learned that twenty-seven years ago. "Mi paloma..." My dove. She wasn't a bird, was she? She felt like one sometimes. Breakable, fragile, stupid...running into glass windows again and again, snapping her neck and stunning her.

She slept on the carpeted floor that night, in her pretty dress with the big brown stains. She dreamt of bird wings and big mazes.

Sherlock dreamt of scarlet lips and laughing eyes.

...

Author's Note:

Let me know what you think! I love reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

Lestrade had called that morning, at around eight to tell her that she needed to be on the job and ready by nine thirty at the latest. Lestrade was having the team meet up at the Yard before heading out to the crime scene. Apparently, the murder victim was in a rather difficult spot to find, and he wanted to make sure everybody found their way.

It was Saturday. Dani didn't think she was going to have to work today, to be seen...apparently the victim had other plans.

David had left around two in the morning, with a gentle farewell kiss to her forehead and draping a blanket over her heavily bruised shoulders. He even shut the door quietly behind him. Funny, as if the neighbors weren't already aware of the hell that had gone on the night previously.

As Dani stood after hanging up the phone with Lestrade, she felt all the blood run to her head as dizziness overwhelmed her and a high-pitched ringing sang deep in her ears. Stumbling, she grabbed the wall for support, gasping as her hip bounced on the wall. Once the ringing stopped, she took small steps into the bathroom.

She was done with crying. Dani HATED crying more than anything. She would never classify herself as weak, and tears were the epitome of weakness. Besides, they made her eyes puffy and ugly, her nose run, and her face tight and tired. It was a hindrance, not a release.

That being said, when Dani took a look at her face in her small bathroom mirror, she couldn't help but let a small whimper escape her lips. The entire right side of her face was bruised a sickening purple-red. The disfigurement was emphasized by lacerations on her forehead and cheekbone.

Her dress was in tatters and the blood-stains seemed to mock her as they destroyed the delicate fabric of her gown. Upon taking the dress off, Dani gave a moan of...frustration? Despair? Horror? Most likely a bit of both. Finger-shaped bruises were imprinted on her upper arms, almost as if they were painted on with ink. Most revolting to Dani were the hickies that littered her chest from the breastbone down. Bile rose in her throat as she examined the degrading bruises. Her ribcage was discolored as well, and judging by the sharpness Dani felt when taking steady breaths, she suspected one or two ribs were either cracked or severely bruised. The most severe bruising was on her left hip, which was so bruised it appeared to be black. Dani couldn't help but walk with a slight limp. The markings on her wrists were back with a vengeance. All in all, she looked like a Dalmatian.

Dani turned from the mirror in a whirl of fury. She was hideous. Last night was the first night she truly felt pretty, and he had to go and RUIN it all. Dick.

Dani turned the shower on and left it running until the water began to steam. While it warmed, she grabbed her phone and checked the weather. It was to be 20.5 C outside today with mostly sunny skies. Fabulous. She would be dressed in a high neck, long sleeve shirt and long pants...if Sherlock Holmes was on the case (which she suspected he would be) he would read her in a heartbeat. Not that he hadn't already figured it out, judging by his stare. He must think her pathetic...the stupid little girl, staying with the man who kicks her around like a football because he pays her a little attention. He LOVES her. She LOVES him. She NEEDS him. He can CHANGE. Bullshit. No way in Hell did Dani love David. She loathed him with every nerve in her body. If it was up to her she would tie him down and punch him senseless before kicking him out of the house and running him over with a car...but it wasn't that simple. It would never be that easy. And no matter how brilliant Sherlock was, he would not be able to deduce that.

Dani let the water flow down her body. Her skin turned bright red due to the intense heat, the color matching the red of the changing water as the blood was cleansed from her flesh. She breathed in the steam, choking a bit as her ribs ached, but relishing the cleanliness that accompanied the near-boiling water. She took as quick of a shower as she could given her physical limitations, and limped into her bedroom.

Once there she dressed in a long sleeved red button-down that covered her wrists and buttoned it up so that the collar covered her chest and a significant portion of her neck. A long pair of grey trousers covered her hip. She just had to be sure to not reach too high so as to not accidentally untuck her shirt and reveal the bruise. A pair of black flats was the best she could do in terms of shoes. They showed her limp less-so than any heel.

What wasn't covered by clothing, Dani layered with the heavy-duty coverup she had bought since knowing David. It covered her neck and facial bruises pretty well but no matter how she arranged the makeup, there was no successfully concealing the laceration on her cheek. What was she to say? She walked into a shard of glass? A confused pigeon ran into her face? She'd figure it out. If she looked carefully, however, the puffiness on the right of her face was evident.

Dani grabbed her phone and badge and went out to call a cab. The only thing she was thinking was that a certain consulting detective would not only read last night all over her, but would think that much less of her as well. She didn't know why this bothered her. Why on Earth should she care what he thinks? Who is he to her? She did care though. She cared so much, and as to who he was to her, she was not quite sure yet...

...

Sherlock informed Detective Inspector Lestrade that he was perfectly capable of finding the crime scene on his own without the DI's assistance. After all, he did have the entire map of London imprinted in his mind palace. Actually, he had the entire map of southern England in his palace.

Sherlock and John climbed out of the cab, with John handing over payment to the driver, looking at Sherlock in mild frustration. Why was it John was the one always left with the tab? And the check? And the bills?

They had wound around numerous country roads, about an hour or so out of the city. Now the consulting detective found himself in a field that seemed to stretch on for eternity. To his right, left, front and back, the colour of newly decaying grass could be seen reaching towards the morning light, as summer began to melt into autumn. The grass reached to Sherlock's mid thigh, and he saw that Lestrade's men had cut a path leading towards the victim.

Before he walked five feet, Sherlock heard another car door slam behind him and a soft female voice saying, "Here you go, thank you so much for getting me here quickly!" He heard the cabbie pull away, and waited until Dani caught up to him, keeping his eyes facing straight, hearing her movements behind him. Sherlock frowned...she was walking with a limp, based on the sound of her footsteps...it was slight, but there nonetheless. Sherlock wasn't quite sure if he wanted to look at the state of her or not...

But he did.

"Ms. Dani," he acknowledged with a small smile, remembering their little joke, as he heard her come up to his right.

"Mr. Sherlock," she replied, and Sherlock could hear the smile in her voice. She also sounded like something else...very tired...he allowed himself to look at her.

He had to admit, she did a wonderful job concealing her exhaustion. Bags under her eyes were disguised by foundation but prevalent through puffiness. Her hair was thrown into a tight plait down her back with a few loose tendrils around her eyes. However, that was not what grabbed Sherlock's interest.

There was a shallow gash on her right cheek, wide enough to eliminate glass or a razor but thin enough to disregard a burn from a carpet or hard surface. The gash was obviously on top of bruising, judging by the very faint swell of her cheekbone. Sherlock briefly looked over her body. She was leaning on one leg instead of an even distribution of weight on both legs, which was her normal stance when she was in a calm state. Her clothes concealed about 90% of her skin. If Sherlock looked at exactly the right time, the wind would blow the collar of her shirt away from her neck and Sherlock saw evidence of concealer on her clothing and a slight discolouration on her throat. Her arms were crossed very lightly right under her ribcage. Sherlock frowned. When Dani was pensive, her arms were always crossed tightly directly under her bustline. The position she was now portraying was similar to that of one with broken and/or cracked ribs.

Full deduction: David was not happy last night. And Sherlock was at least partly responsible for that.

Usually, when Sherlock came to the realization that he was correct about his deductions, he felt content; his mind caught on to all the little details; he was right; his abilities were just as strong as they always had been. But now? No smug self-pat-on-the-back, no overwhelming sense of triumph flowed through his veins. He felt frozen, like the blood in his veins refused to pump due to the injustice of what he realized. Because he, Sherlock Holmes, had befriended Danielle Carter, she was hurt. Because of him, she was hurt. Because of HIM.

But here she was, on two feet at a crime scene, ready to start the day and do her job. An admirable action, and Sherlock couldn't help but appreciate her dedication and courage. However, what Sherlock could not fully understand, despite how many gears turned inside his not-so-inconsiderable sized mind, was why Dani still remained with the oaf that was David Cortes. Yes, he was significantly larger and stronger than her. Yes, he had an immense temper. Yes, he could understand how a young woman of Dani's disposition might find Cortes intimidating. That being said, all she needed to do was say one word to Lestrade, and the DI would end Cortes before he knew what hit him. From what Sherlock could tell, Lestrade and Dani had a uniquely close, if not parental, relationship. The DI would do anything for the young woman. Yet she remained silent.

Dani sighed as she realized that Sherlock could indeed read absolutely everything that she tried to hard to conceal. This was it, he would criticize and reprimand her at her stupidity for remaining by David. She braced herself for the cruel onslaught.

It never came.

Instead, Sherlock's brow furrowed and a look of genuine confusion graced his crystal eyes. And something else too...she couldn't put her finger on the emotion she witnessed in his face; the creases around his eyes, the tension in his forehead, the slight downturn of his lips. It wasn't pity, she knew that for sure. And he wasn't angry...although she thought he might have been when he first saw her. Concern? Possibly...

Their moment was interrupted by the DI making a beeline down the narrow path, calling out to Dani.

"Dani! I need to speak with you," said the DI, obviously not seeing what Sherlock saw when he laid eyes on the woman.

Dani winced slightly as she took an intake of breath to speak to Greg. Sherlock noticed. Greg did not. "I know! I know! I'm late, I'm sorry! The taxi went to the wrong address, and there was an accident on these God-forsaken farm-y roads, and then there was a sheep crossing! I swear-" As she was speaking, she walked, (_hobbled_, thought Sherlock) down the cut path towards the victim.

"No, Dani, that's not it. Wait for a second, I need to explain-" implored Greg, but Dani just walked along, not really listening as she continued her tale about the sheep who decided to play dead in the middle of the road for a quarter of an hour. Sherlock followed the young officer, his attention already zeroing in on the dead male lying spread-eagle on the ground with a tarp covering his presumably nude form.

Donovan soon dragged Lestrade away, who still did not get the opportunity to give his message to Dani. Lestrade appeared as if he was going to shush Donovan and drag Dani away, but Donovan would have none of it. Eventually, Lestrade gave up and let Dani accompany Sherlock to the body, much to the DI's obvious displeasure.

Sherlock unceremoniously ripped the tarp off the male figure before him. Nude male, mid to late forties, balding dark hair and portly, verging on pleasantly plump with a slight beer-belly. What was now pale skin in death was once tan European-esque skin. His fingertips were tainted black and his nails had a slight yellow tint to them. Sherlock checked his teeth. Yellow. Checked his arms. Punctures in his forearm. Checked his toes. Needle marks. Conclusion: adamant drug user.

No tan line on his ring finger. Not married, never married. Body type suggests non-physical job, nothing requiring heavy lifting. Judging by the state of his legs and buttocks, something requiring sitting down for long periods of time. Judging by the slight callouses on his hands on the base of his fingers, truck driver.

His body was completely spread-eagle in the field, nude. The killer obviously had an intense distaste for this man and wanted to see him humiliated. Why else would he be naked? Based on the posing, the killer intended for this man to be found. He was on display. He wanted the police to find him. He wanted to play...well, Sherlock knew how to play, and he always won.

"Do you got anything?" asked the DI, climbing through the grass to get to Sherlock. He frowned when he saw Dani, who was taking interest in the punctures between the victim's toes. Funny, why would the DI be displeased? Sherlock would have to investigate that further...but later. Now, he had a game to play.

"A bit," replied the tall detective, straightening up.

"A bit?" said Dani with a smirk. She knew what 'a bit' was according to the consulting detective. Sherlock smirked as well.

"Just his occupation, crime record, drug habits and relationship with his boss who happens to be a major drug dealer, possibly drug lord," he said, keeping his eyes locked with Dani's. He felt the familiar pang of triumph as her eyes widened in astonishment and warmed with a smile. She didn't think he was a freak, and she believed him at once when he rattled on his deductions. It was...refreshing.

Lestrade looked perturbed. More than that though, he didn't look surprised. This confused Sherlock. Greg usually expressed disbelief when Sherlock made initial deductions. Why, suddenly, did he not seem at all surprised by Sherlock's conclusion. "Um, Sherlock..."

Sherlock looked up. Dani did as well as she heard the tone of Greg's voice.

"That's not it."

"What do you mean 'that's not it'?" asked Sherlock, for once not understanding where Lestrade was going with his line of thinking.

"I mean, roll him over," said Greg, eyes flickering over to Dani.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to turn the body onto his front. Starting on the man's right shoulder and cascading down to his tailbone was the crude image of a rose sliced into the flesh with what appeared to be a blunt knife.

"Now we are getting interesting," said Sherlock with a gleam in his eye that the DI hadn't seen since Sherlock's return from death.

What Sherlock FAILED to see was the sudden vicious drain of colour from Dani's face and the unmeasurable fear that permeated her eyes. She knelt down into the dirt to stop from passing out completely.

Interesting, indeed.

...

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE!


	6. Chapter 6

Dani vaguely heard a ringing in her ears as she stared at the bloody tattoo that was carved into the victim's back. A rose. THAT rose. The one she had seen so many times before. The one that had mocked her every day of the life _before. _And here it was again, its rusty red colour contrasting so viciously against the white flesh of the dead man. Who was he again? Oh, right. Sherlock had said he worked for a...drug lord...oh, shit. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

Dani now understood Lestrade's attempts to pull her aside. She should have listened.

Meanwhile, Sherlock examined the body with a morbid fascination that lit his entire face. This was good. REALLY good. As in the most interesting thing that had crossed his path since Moriarty, good. It was a challenge, a bet, a game...the killer wanted to play, was almost dying to get caught...Sherlock always did love a good game.

He turned just in time to see Dani slowly rise to her feet, her legs a bit wobbly. Sherlock frowned. She didn't appear to be the kind of woman to get queasy at a bit of dried blood or a dead body. Surely she had seen things like this numerous times before. Why was she so pale? Sherlock really couldn't be bothered with the deductions of Ms. Carter at the moment, however. Not when a perfectly delicious killer was on the loose! He turned his attention the John, who was standing opposite him.

"How soon can we get him to the morgue?" asked Sherlock, already whipping out his phone to shoot Molly a text, alerting her of a fresh body. Was it her day off? Sherlock didn't remember. It wasn't any more.

John turned to Greg. "All done photographing him?" Lestrade nodded, looking at Dani from the corner of his eye. "You are good to go."

"Then I'd say no more than an hour," said John, frowning at the body. "It's all rather peculiar..." John started. Sherlock looked up.

"What do you see, John?" John knelt by the body.

"There are a million different tools to cut flesh, all of them sharp and precise. But this was very crudely done, almost hacking, yet it is still evident that this is a rose. It's all very deliberate." John looked up to Sherlock. "Do you think he was sending a message?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course he was sending a message, John. I don't think-"

"No, Sherlock, I mean to someone specifically," interrupted John adamantly. "If he was trying to make a point in general, why take the time to use a blunt knife and carve something into the back of a man? He was still alive when this occurred. He would have been thrashing, flailing, it would have most certainly not been easy." John sighed. "It's a lot of trouble to go through to make a general statement. I think he wanted someone specifically to see this."

Sherlock smiled, causing John to do the opposite and frown. Smiling at a crime scene...a bit not good.

Donovan had been on the outskirts listening to John. Finally she spoke up and made her presence known. "What message, though? And to whom? Someone on the force?" She spoke to John, not Sherlock. Yet Sherlock was the one who answered.

"As usual, Sally, you ask all the wrong questions. Might do us all a favor and stay silent when work is trying to be done," said Sherlock, not even gracing the detective with a glance. Sally huffed and mumbled a crude name or two under her breath, causing Dani to glare in shock and anger when she heard. Sherlock didn't seem to mind.

Dani finally spoke up. "Then what question does matter, Sherlock." She sounded tired again, catching Sherlock's attention. He looked up at her with a mischievous smirk.

"_Why?"_ he said, before getting up and checking his mobile.

Lestrade turned to Dani, and Dani could tell what he was about to say. He wanted her to go home, to get away from the case and stay out of it. She wouldn't be having it. Before he opened his mouth, she gave him a glare that insinuated if he so much as uttered a word of what he was thinking, she would do the complete opposite anyway. Lestrade sighed, catching her look.

"Go to the morgue once Sherlock is done. Run a tox screen and find out what drugs were in his system. I'll go talk to our contact, and I'll call you immediately, ok?" He said the last bit in a quiet voice and gave Dani a light squeeze on her shoulder, causing her to wince a bit. Lestrade didn't seem to notice. Sherlock did. He had watched the interaction with interest, not able to hear that last sentence, but understood that something was indeed off with Ms. Carter.

Dani turned to leave but Sherlock called out to her and stopped her.

"Dani." She turned. "For what it is worth, I am truly sorry," said Sherlock as he took in her bruised, yet concealed form as if he could see every mark. Consciously, Sherlock knew that Dani's injuries were not his fault in the slightest, but that of David Cortes, the brute, That being said, he could not shake the twinge of guilt he felt when he saw Dani's slight limp or poorly concealed cheek. If he hadn't approached her last night...if he did more to make a positive impression on Cortes, then maybe Dani would have been spared last night...at least for a little while. Sherlock detested the idea that he was the reason Dani suffered.

He didn't understand why he cared, but he did nonetheless.

Meanwhile, John stood mouth agape behind Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes just apologized. It was genuine. He APOLOGIZED?! Dani similarly looked surprised. At first, she thought Sherlock was referring to the body, but there was no way he could know...then she saw where his gaze was. On her bad leg, her cheek, her neck...and she became even more surprised. Why was he sorry? Oh...David's words came back to her.

_But you wish it was more, wouldn't you? Would you let him touch you? Let him kiss you, make you whimper?_

He felt guilty. He didn't think she was pathetic. If he had thought that, he would not have apologized for something that he had no control over. He cared.

Dani knew this was not the place for such a display of emotion, but she felt the warmth return to her chest with this realization. Uncharacteristically, she felt her eyes prickle with tears, so she looked down at her feet and nodded lightly, not trusting her voice to stay steady. She didn't want to embarrass herself even further. She gave one last look at Sherlock, giving him a small smile, and left to meet Molly in the morgue after Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned. He didn't want the make her cry...

"Sherlock," said John as if he was talking to a near-detonating bomb. "Why did you just apologize to Dani? What did you do now?"

"Nothing, John. I did nothing at all." And that fact in itself was the more disturbing to Sherlock than even the crime scene before him.

...

Dani's mobile was ringing. David was calling. She knew better than to ignore him, so as the taxi drove she answered her phone.

"Hello, David," she said, not warmly but not unhappily. Perfectly neutral, tiptoeing the edge.

"Hey, Beautiful," came David's deep voice in her ear. "Where are you? I dropped by to take you out, but you weren't home..." AKA I came by to make sure your injuries were not too bad to be concealed, and then parade you around town on my arm like a show-dog.

"Lestrade called, there was an emergency out past the city limits," she said, keeping the details brief. No doubt Lestrade would include David in on the details the next time David came into the office, due to its connection with Dani.

"Everything settled yet?" he asked. Oh yes, murder could be solved in an hour. Stupid, stupid man...

"Not quite, I think this one will take a bit of time," she said, as the taxi turned to corner and Dani could begin to make out the outline of the London Eye in the distance.

There was a pause on the other side of the mobile. What did she say now? She didn't say anything wrong! Dani felt the warmth leave her chest again. "Dave?"

"Did they call in the freak Holmes guy?"

Oh. That. Dani wasn't in the mood for this. She was exhausted, in pain, frustrated, and emotionally overwhelmed after seeing the body. She just wanted to sit on the lab stool next to Molly and discuss tabloid headlines with the young woman as she waited for the tox screen. She wanted to pretend she was normal, for at least twenty minutes.

So she lied.

"No David, I think Lestrade will hold out on this one," she lied through her teeth. "Donovan and Anderson made a bit of a fuss after the last case. Lestrade is giving them a break." He wasn't a freak. That was a horrible thing to say. Why is it that when someone has a gift, others have to mock and criticize them in order to make themselves feel better about their lack of talent? It was a depressing revelation about human nature.

"Good, the man belongs in a fucking circus, not at a crime scene." Dani boiled. She kept her mouth shut. "I don't want you working with him anymore, got it?"

This was crazy, even for David. "What?" she asked, astounded.

"Did I say that in a foreign language?" mocked David. "I said no more. No more Sherlock Holmes, not where you're involved. I don't like the way he looks at you, like he's stripping you with his eyes." Dani's jaw hit the ground. "You need to stay away from him."

"David," she said in as calm a voice as she could muster. "I don't think that is my place to say. He works for Lestrade-"

"And Lestrade will separate the two of you. You go talk to him the moment you see him, do I make myself clear?" David's voice was rumbling through the phone. Dani looked at the taxi driver, who turned the cab to the left and entered the city limits. When David was angry, his voice dropped octaves lower until it sounded like a growl. It made Dani want to throw the phone far away from her ear. Even then, though, she could imagine the mobile vibrating on the ground as David yelled obscenities at her.

"Yes," she said quietly in the phone.

"Good." David sounded much calmer, yet Dani felt to better. She didn't want to not see Sherlock anymore. For some reason, the tall consulting detective's presence calmed her. He could be mean, blunt, brusque, analytical, inappropriate and brutally honest, but never would he ever be a violent man. Dani could tell. Even when he was angry, he never clenched a fist, threw a test tube, or glared hatefully. He just got quiet and contemplative and figured out something else to try. He was not cruel. And Dani liked to think of him as her friend, even if Sherlock wouldn't go quite that far. "I'll see you at the office, ok?"

It was times like this that Dani wished David didn't work in the same building as her. Lestrade made sure to keep David close to Dani so he stationed him on the first floor as a security guard/analyst.

"Ok," she uttered again.

"Love you, babe."

She wasn't a baby. "Love you, too."

...

Sherlock sat in the back of the lab, test tube in front of him. He was currently analyzing the dirt under the victim's fingernails, trying to pinpoint a location as to where the man had been. It was a tedious process, and three hours into his experiment, he was still coming up empty handed.

The autopsy was similarly disappointing. Molly was unable to divulge anything that wasn't already blatantly obvious to the naked eye. Cause of death was forced overdose. The tox screen would be done any minute, and then they would know what substance was responsible for the man's death. The identification of the victim was a work in progress as well. No name had been found as of yet. All in all, Sherlock was getting increasingly bored.

The lab was divided into two sections: a large open area with machines, gadgets and lab tables, and a smaller area for solitary scientific study and analysis. The two were divided by a thin wall, door and dimly lit window. Sherlock was currently occupying the far corner of the small space. The solitary environment helped him think in peace and quiet without the incessant beeping of technology.

Sherlock looked up and through the window when he heard the door open. Dani walked through the door, making her way over to the machine that was currently running a tox screen on the victim's blood and hair. Peeking at it, Sherlock could hear her sigh lightly as she took a seat on the stool next to it. Obviously, the machine hadn't finished quite yet, and she was going to wait for the results before going back to Lestrade. Sherlock was contemplating popping out to let her know he was here, when suddenly the door flew open again not five minutes later with a resounding crash that startled even Sherlock. Dani herself jumped nearly five feet in the air, nearly falling off her stool.

The towering figure of David Cortes barreled into the room.

"YOU FUCKING LIAR!" the man roared, and Sherlock could see the colour completely drain from Dani's face as she took an involuntary step backward. David was dressed in a security uniform, one that Sherlock had seen the guards on the first floor wear. So he worked here...

"I-" began Dani, but whatever her response was going to be, Sherlock would never know. A loud crack pierced the air and Sherlock watched as Dani's head whipped viciously to the left. She did not cry out, or make a noise at all. She just grabbed onto the lab table in an attempt to steady herself and rose an arm in front of her face, bracing for another slap. Her lip was bleeding, or was it a tooth?

Another slap did not come, however. Instead, Cortes grabbed Dani by her shoulders and shook her. "You didn't think I'd find out, did you? You think I'm stupid!?" Dani was staring at Cortes with wide eyes. She didn't look confused. She bit her lip hard and shook her head right to left. She knew what this was about, apparently. Her teeth were cutting into her bottom lip, their grip was so tight.

"I TOLD you to stay away from that bastard! I asked you specifically if he was there and you FUCKING LIED TO ME! TO ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA? ANY IDEA AT ALL WHAT I CAN DO?" he roared, shaking her back and forth like a rag doll. In a fit of anger he pushed her back and she landed on her tailbone with a thud. Gathering herself, she began crawling backwards on her hands, scooting away from the giant before her.

Grabbing her hair, David hoisted her up against the wall, where he placed one hand around her throat, keeping her elevated, and the other dangerously close to the side of her head. Dani was gasping, her air slowly being cut off. David's voice dropped perilously low and Sherlock had to strain to hear it. But he understood every word.

"Do you have any idea?" David whispered, spitting in Dani's face. "I could blow the fucking lid off you, and give you to them on a silver platter," he spat at her. Now was the first time Dani actually looked scared. "I have that power, and you KNOW that."

Dani was coughing lightly, trying to get air into her lungs to no avail. Her legs ere trying to kick at David's, but they did little more than touch him.

"I'm the only thing standing between you and a coffin in the ground, do you understand that?" he whispered. Dani nodded, willing to do anything to breathe again. David let go.

Dani fell unceremoniously to the floor on her bruised tailbone, gasping as sweet oxygen filled her lungs. She coughed wretchedly and grabbed her throat. David stepped back.

"Stay away from Sherlock Holmes, babe, or else be ready for a hell of a rude awakening." David left.

Dani choked for a few more minutes and proceeded to breathe heavily. Gingerly, she grabbed the corner of the table and lifted herself up. Pressing a hand to her lip, she peaked over at the tox screen machine and saw the results were done. Wiping the blood from her mouth, she peered into the metallic lab table, catching her reflection. Sherlock assumed that Dani did not find the damage to be particularly noticeable, since she simply wiped at her mouth, straightened her clothes, made sure her shirt covered her neck fully, and exited the room with the tox results she would take to Molly.

Sherlock remained frozen in his position for what felt like seconds but was probably around three quarters of an hour. When he looked down, he saw blood on his hand. He had squeezed a test tube so hard that he sliced his hand. Funny...he hadn't noticed.

His mind was racing. He knew that David had been hurting Dani, that much was obvious. He had never seen domestic abuse in person, however, and especially not to one he considered a...friend? More so, acquaintance? Possibly. What would John say? Caring is not a disadvantage...did he care? Based on the tension in his body, the heat rising in his chest and the blood seeping from his palm, he would take that as a yes.

Dani was in trouble, but not just with David. With somebody much larger than David, it would seem. _I could blow the fucking lid off of you...the only thing standing between you and a coffin in the ground._

Somebody wanted Dani dead. And David was the only thing 'protecting' her, if by 'protecting' one meant beating to a pulp. And Sherlock sat here and did nothing. Nothing.

That would end now. Sherlock was going to make Dani his number one new case.

...

AN

Please please please please reviewwwwww! Any predictions as to what is going on with Dani?


End file.
